


Throw in a Toaster

by LadyDrace



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 12:04:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2546813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDrace/pseuds/LadyDrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some offers life is just too short to refuse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Throw in a Toaster

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mithrel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mithrel/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MITHREL! <3  
> (Unbetaed.)

Women came and went in both their lives. Blair's more than Jim's, but that was unsurprising for a lot of reasons. And Jim wished he could say it was unexpected when Blair brought home a few men as well, but Blair was nothing if not the free thinking son of a genuine hippie, and applied his childhood teachings of _“make love, not war”_ pretty evenly.

 

However, it became clear to Jim after a while, that even though Blair had no qualms about parading his lady friends in front of Jim's face, and even compete with him over ones they had a mutual interest in, the men... well, Jim never saw them. He heard them arrive and leave, and even without superior senses, no one with a nose could delude themselves into thinking those sleepovers were perfectly platonic.

 

And it _hurt_. Not for the reasons Blair probably assumed, but because even after knowing him for almost two years, Blair still seemed to think that Jim would somehow give him shit for it. Contrary to popular belief, not all army men were raging homophobes, especially not Jim who had seen far too much death to care the least about how people chose to live their lives, as long as they were alive to do it. Life was precious, and too fucking short to argue over who put their junk where, and Jim wished he was the kind of naturally open guy who could just _say_ these things. But he wasn't, so it never got said, and Blair never seemed to catch Jim's hints about being cool with Blair bringing _people_ over. He just took it as an invitation to have loud study groups and small parties all the goddamn time, so yeah, Jim should probably just keep his stupid mouth shut.

 

Inevitably, though, one day Jim came home in the early hours of the morning after a stake-out to find an impressingly beefy guy wearing only a towel easing his way silently back to Blair's room, hair still wet. Realizing Jim was there, the guy put a finger to his lips and tipped his head towards the open door.

 

“Cutie's still asleep. Guess I wore him out,” he whispered, and Jim just stood there, blinking slowly, trying to make his sleepy brain grasp what he was being told. “No worries man, I'll be outta your hair soon,” the guy promised and closed Blair's door silently behind him.

 

Jim stayed right inside the front door for a long, stunned moment before shaking it off and going for a shower himself.

 

At least mystery guy saved him some hot water.

 

By the time Jim rejoined the land of the living, Blair was on the couch, looking vaguely ill, and his heart shot into double time when Jim entered the room.

 

“I am so, _so_ sorry, man, I totally didn't mean for you to run into Andy this morning, he was supposed to leave last night, but we fell asleep and... I'm sorry,” Blair trailed off with the look of a kicked puppy, and Jim stared at him. So they were going to talk about it. Great.

 

“Hold that thought, Chief, I need coffee.”

 

Blair nodded and sat back down on the couch, looking even more ill. Once Jim had gotten a few sips of caffeine he felt alert enough to string words together right and sat down on the couch next to Blair.

 

“Okay. So here's the deal. I don't care,” Jim announced and went back to his coffee.

 

“... what?” Blair asked, face slack with surprise.

 

“I don't care. I've never cared about all the other dates who've left your bed in the night or the morning or strutted through the kitchen half naked at four AM. I don't care who they are, when they leave or what they're wearing. What I _do_ care about is that you close your door properly, so the damn expensive sound-proofing can keep me from hearing every detail of your sexcapades, and for you to open a goddamn window after making the whole place smell like a brothel. That's it, end of story.”

 

Blair kept staring at him. Jim could feel it drilling holes in the side of his skull, and kept his attention firmly on his coffee.

 

“You mean, you're not...”

 

“What, homophobic? Use your head, dumbass. I was a ranger going on missions for months at a time. Nothing but men in close quarters for weeks and weeks in the worst parts of the world. Whatever comfort you could find, you damn well took it. And when someone's trying to kill you, you don't care what the guy saving your life does in bed. Simple as that.”

 

And that was officially all the heart-to-heart Jim could stomach after barely four hours of sleep, so he got up and got ready for work.

 

In the car, Blair cast him glances every few seconds, and eventually Jim snapped.

 

“All right, _what_.”

 

“Nothing.”

 

Jim glared.

 

“Okay, fine, it's something,” Blair admitted, hands up in a calming gesture. “It's just. I know you were a ranger. But in the time I've known you, you've only been a cop. And, well... cops aren't the most accepting bunch when it comes to these things, you know.”

 

There was no denying that, and Jim offered a grunt of agreement.

 

“But anyway. Now that we've talked. It's cool. We're cool, right?” Blair asked, heart pounding.

 

“'Course we are.”

 

And that was the end of it. At least that's what Jim assumed. But he was proven wrong as weeks and then months went by when not a single male date was brought home. Even the lady friends seemed scarcer, and it came to a point where Jim was starting to worry about Blair. They might even have to have another talk, and ugh, Jim just did not feel like it.

 

So he turned to his senses, because that was just easier. And after only a few days some surprising facts were revealed. Blair brought people home, but he didn't get intimate with them. Jim had assumed he'd just been more diligent about opening the damn windows, but it seemed he didn't even bring people into his room anymore, the smell there getting more and more concentrated _Blair_ and no one else.

 

Also, Blair suddenly seemed to get nervous whenever Jim was in the room, and listening to his pulse hammering and his breathing quickening was actually getting really distressing. They were going to have to talk about it some day soon, fuck Jim's life.

 

Thankfully, Blair took up the topic first.

 

“Did you ever...” he said haltingly, lending more focus to packing away the leftovers from dinner than any Tupperware ever deserved, while Jim was doing the dishes.

 

“Did I ever what?”

 

“Well... seek comfort?”

 

It took a while for Jim's brain to rewind and decipher what Blair was referring to.

 

“Oh, uh... not personally, no.”

 

“I see.”

 

Silence descended heavy and icy, and Jim could hear all too clearly how Blair's pulse was still rushing and his breathing went shallow. He was obviously upset, and it was Jim's fault. Dammit. Evidently some middle ground had to be found over this sensitive subject.

 

“But, uhm. That isn't to say I never would. Just... never got around to it, I guess.”

 

That Tupperware had to be hermetically sealed by now, and the plate Jim was washing would probably soon loose the glaze from being washed repeatedly. They were both being ridiculous, but being aware of it didn't seem to solve anything.

 

“Do... do you ever think you would? Get around to it?”

 

“Maybe. If the right offer came along.”

 

Blair's heart rate doubled, and Jim was genuinely concerned for the two seconds it took for Blair turn him around by the shoulders and plant a sound kiss on his surprise-slack lips.

 

“How about _that_ offer?” Blair said, sounding like he was only barely keeping it together, and no fucking wonder. Jim kinda hated himself for not seeing it coming.

 

But on the other hand, he hadn't lied, either, and it was never too late for new experiences and... bottom line was that life was short. So why the hell not.

 

“Throw in a toaster, and we'll talk about it.”

 

Blair gaped at him for a second until Jim slapped him on the ass with a soapy spatula and went back to the dishes. He'd barely gotten his hands in the water again, though, before Blair was on him, and, _Christ_ , all that practice had clearly paid off, and Jim would never again say that there was any such thing as too much dating.

 

But if Blair had thought that blow jobs, no matter how brain-meltingly good, could get him out of his chores around the place, then he was in for disappointment.

 

End.

 


End file.
